sand, in the direction of Filey.

'There have been wheels here,' said Mr. Slinkton. 'And now I look
again, the wheels of a hand-carriage! Margaret, my love, your
shadow without doubt!'

'Miss Niner's shadow?' I repeated, looking down at it on the sand.

'Not that one,' Mr. Slinkton returned, laughing. 'Margaret, my
dear, tell Mr. Sampson.'

'Indeed,' said the young lady, turning to me, 'there is nothing to
tell - except that I constantly see the same invalid old gentleman
at all times, wherever I go. I have mentioned it to my uncle, and
he calls the gentleman my shadow.'

'Does he live in Scarborough?' I asked.

'He is staying here.'

'Do you live in Scarborough?'

'No, I am staying here. My uncle has placed me with a family here,
for my health.'

'And your shadow?' said I, smiling.

'My shadow,' she answered, smiling too, 'is - like myself - not
very robust, I fear; for I lose my shadow sometimes, as my shadow
loses me at other times. We both seem liable to confinement to the